


can you take this weight of mine?

by imaginejolls



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, I thought you should know that, Platonic Soulmates, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unprotected Sex, and fuckmates. obviously, i mean Margo has an IUD and they both get tested religiously but, there is no condom present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 03:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21029246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginejolls/pseuds/imaginejolls
Summary: when she curls up on top of him, it’s like they were always meant to be like this: fucking their problems away.





	can you take this weight of mine?

**Author's Note:**

> i really wish i could tell you more about this story, but i genuinely don't know much about it. i started writing it with a Feeling in my heart and not a single idea about whether it's set in canon or an AU, or even which planet it takes place on. i hope you enjoy, though. all 3 of you

Margo’s touch is soft. Her fingers are cold and they curl around his wrist in the same way they did countless times before. It brings Eliot a sense of comfort. He turns around to face her, so small and - something else. _Fragile_ comes to his mind when looking at her. She is so strong, always, but right now she looks on the verge of breaking. Not that anyone else could tell. To them, Margo wouldn’t look any different, just as royal and untouchable as always. Her doe eyes are transfixed on him, as if she was searching for something. She’s probing for answers to questions unasked. 

“The answer is yes,” Eliot says, soft, but it hangs in the air heavily, trembling in anticipation. 

He is not saving her. On the contrary; she is saving him, every single day. He owes her too fucking much by now.

They walk to his room in a comfortable silence. Margo’s small, cold hand in his own. Eliot’s thumb passes over her knuckles, there and back, a mindless motion and yet so earth-shatteringly important. Margo is giving him a private smile, one that seems to be reserved to him only. He matches it with one of his own. 

Words come to them once the door closes. They are lighthearted - exactly what they need right now. The world outside the window is gloomy and grey. The cold threatens to creep in with every gust of wind, the window frame grunting in effort to keep closed. 

Faint music fills the space around the two of them as they lie in his bed. Margo’s hand on his chest, his hand on her back. Their legs hopelessly tangled together. Inseparable. That’s what people seem to think and they wouldn’t be wrong, anyway. To Eliot it feels like there’s a piece of Margo in him, keeping him company wherever he goes. He knows she feels the same. 

Margo shifts, warm and solid on top of him. Eliot can hear she’s smiling when she hums and says “oh hello” towards his semi-hard dick. She presses into him, so real and wicked, and Eliot lets out a breathy chuckle. They kiss and it’s lazy, messy, imperfect. Their noses bump into one another, and Margo is thrown off-center, kissing more his cheek than his mouth. They laugh, kissing still. It feels like a weight has been lifted off them, a weight neither of them realized was there in the first place. It feels like they can breathe again. 

Eliot’s hands come up to hold onto Margo’s face. He tries to keep her hair as far from their mouths as possible, but he still feels the tickle of her strands on the corner of his lips. Grinning, he rolls them over to their sides. Eliot strokes Margo’s cheek with the back of his finger as he gazes into her eyes and all he can think is _thank you_. He sucks in a breath, braces himself for the moments his lips let loose… But then there are the pads of Margo’s fingertips pressed to his mouth. She’s looking at him like she knows. And maybe she does, but he still wants to say:

“Thank you.”

If eyes could sparkle with mischief in real life, hers would be doing it right now. “Oh, dearest, I haven’t done anything yet.” 

Eliot shoves at her and fondly calls her a dick. Margo dutifully pretends to take offense in that.

“Speaking of,” she says and then her mouth is on his again, warm and dangerous.

Taking off each other’s clothes is haphazard. His shirt and sock, her cardigan and pants. They distract each other with kisses and wandering hands. Margo’s inside his underwear is especially cruel. Her fingers wrap around his cock, too short to actually encircle it, and she strokes him with practised ease despite him still having pants on. Which is a thing Eliot should do something about, so he takes them off. Much better.

His boxer briefs end up halfway to his knees. Margo is still wearing too much, so Eliot hooks a finger into the band of her panties and drags them down her legs. Distantly, he realizes that Pink Floyd is playing on the speakers. 

Eliot doesn’t eat her out. But he does suck on his own fingers before cupping her core, finding that the extra lubrication wasn’t necessary. Margo gives him a feline grin. Her blouse is still on. Eliot has given up on it; he’s glad to kick off his underwear and the other sock. 

It’s curious how well they fit together. She’s so small and full of pointy edges; he so huge in comparison, all hard lines and long limbs. And yet when she curls up on top of him, it’s like they were always meant to be like this: fucking their problems away. 

“You know,” Eliot starts, and Margo’s cunt bears down against his shaft, so he draws in a startled breath. “We probably can’t fix all of our problems with sex, drugs and alcohol.” 

Margo hums and drags her wetness over the length of his cock. “Probably,” is all she says. 

They don’t talk much after that.

Margo's hands seem so small, bracing against his shoulders. Eliot drags his thumb across the high point of her cheekbone, then traces the shape of her ear to tuck in a wayward strand. He's looking up at her, a welcome change of perspective. She looks great on top. 

Margo dips down to kiss him again. Eliot’s fingers tangle in the hair behind her ear and he tugs, and she sighs into his mouth. Her hips push down against his own, the perfect torture for both of them. 

It’s Eliot who gets impatient first. They both saw it coming, but Margo still gives him a wicked grin. He slips two fingers inside of her, testing and stretching, and when he feels like it’s enough he slides them back out to make way for his dick. 

They settle on their sides. Eliot is curled around Margo's back and his dick hangs heavy in between her thighs. Margo grabs hold of his desperate erection, already shiny with her arousal, and pushes it up against her slit. Eliot can feel her heat, her wetness, and maybe even her fucking heartbeat. He groans in defeat and buries his face in her shoulder. Impossibly slow, Margo nudges him inside of her. Eliot doesn't go all the way in but he goes as deep as he can. And then, just as slowly, Eliot starts pulling back out of her.

It’s a unhurried affair. Margo is enveloped in Eliot’s body, his warmth, his comfort. His long fingers are wrapped around her wrist for no other reason than to hold onto her. His mouth is pressed into the skin of her neck like a promise. 

The music changes and the wind keeps blowing outside. Eliot and Margo rock together in a familiar rhythm, focused only on the points where they connect. His hand on her forearm, her hand digging into the meat of his thigh. His cock driving in and out of her almost incidentally. It’s not really… about the sex. Maybe it never has been. It’s about saying _I’m here, I’ve got you_ without never saying anything. 

Margo comes first. Eliot can feel her clench around his dick, hold him inside of her for a long moment. Then, with a shuddering exhale, Margo relaxes. Eliot thrusts into her a couple more times before he comes inside of her. He pulls out carefully and wipes his dick off into his underwear. 

She’s looking at him over her shoulder. Her eyes are big and dark and gentle. Eliot bends down so he can kiss her. 

“You’re cleaning up,” Margo says with batting eyelashes. 

He sighs in the most suffering fashion he can muster. 

“You made the mess.” 

Fair. 

“Fine. Go shower and think about what we’re watching on Netflix later.” 

She gets off the bed and finally takes off her blouse.

“Alright,” she says as she walks away, then stops in the bathroom doorway: “But you hurry up in here, or I’ll use up all of your warm water.” 

Eliot throws a sock after her. (He misses.)


End file.
